The following are raw unedited thoughts from yours truly. Read at your own discretion.

Sometimes I wonder…vainly of course. if Jesus Christ was like me in his twenties. Bearing the pressures of expectancies of family, toiling and committing himself to his craft that was carpentry and fish…all the while resisting destructive impulses and fighting off the waves of crashing temptation of fornication and immorality and drunkenness, and covetousness and acts of violent revenge against perpetual offenders.

Why did it take him till the age of 30 to get baptized? Could it be that he himself understood himself, and recognized that he knew he was not ready to commit himself to that path. I wonder if he too, saw the hypocrisy of other clergy-men and proselytizers who led double lives and promised himself that he wouldn’t become one of them.

I wonder if he too, saw the flaws of boxing himself into one religion when he knew better than most that the way others were worshiping Jehovah, while it may have been earnest and in good intentions, were overall daunting and diminishing to the souls, the different hearts that needed a different approach when it came to them approaching and praying to God.

I say different hearts, because more and more, I’m beginning to believe that not all hearts are the same. Is there a study of hearts? Like the study of psychology, and I realize that my use of “hearts” if figurative and thus, vague and intangible and essentially non-existant. But it’s the feeling we all have, and not everyone feels the same. And I think that’s okay.

For instance, my life is saturated with men and women who don’t know I exist, but they are in my world because I have learned of them, either through news articles or random research. Even those who do know I exist, often and understandably presume that I hate them just because they annoy me. But it’s not hate. My annoyance with them is based on the lives they lead, and I care because I love them.

The love I bear for them, is incomprehensible by many of my peers because they either don’t believe it or can’t understand it. I weep for families I’ve never had the pleasure to make their acquaintance. My heart is girdled in chains when I hear of victims. My skin peels and crackles into embers when I hear of children sold into slavery, their lives ruined and tainted by the selfishness of adults who care nothing or see nothing beyond a certain point like spiders.

The more I see…the more my heart cries and begs for wickedness to be washed away sooner than later. I sometimes lament being born at all and then slap myself for thinking I’m any better than they who I cry for. Why has such a walking contradiction such as myself been allowed to exist? The strength I continually prayed for has been given to me, and with it I keep walking. But for how long? I wonder, if that’s why I crave purity and innocence for my company.

“Surround yourself with like-minded individuals” they say…

I won’t go so far as to say that’s impossible. But I will say that I’m tired of looking. I am the lone wolf who talks to everyone. I judge everyone as everyone judges everyone. To call me judgmental is to declare yourself judgmental. There’s nothing wrong with it. To accept oneself, the essence of romanticism and inner peace and happiness and an honest unbridled and naked self to present yourself in your prayers…what’s the point of it all if we continue to deny what’s right in front of us. The obvious truths we ignore for the sake of…fitting in?

How does one stop a terrorist organization? Can it ever truly be stopped?

Eliza Christie and August the 18th has set out to match blood for blood in a brutal war of attrition against the notorious Pierce Syndicate. The situation goes from brutal to tragic when the conflict ends up taking the lives of over thirty Tampa police officers. Racked with guilt, the resentful Eliza comes to a fork in the road where she must decide whether she should disband the 18th or continue to put herself in harm’s way. Her best friend Robby reminds her that at the end of the day, essentially they are just college freshmen.

Just when all seems hopeless with every path just as bleak and dreary as the next, salvation arrives in the form of a blue-eyed angel. After keeping to the shadows for months during August the 18th guerrilla war, the enigmatic private investigator Gavin Hassell takes to the stage. Aside from uplifting Eliza’s distraught spirit, he comes bearing a dangerous yet viable plan to stop an impending Pierce Corporation takeover.

Gavin is a wild card. No one knows his motives. No one knows his background. No one knows that he’s just as deadly and strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with the syndicate’s best. All of this makes him extremely unpredictable with just cause to remain skeptical. To Eliza, none of that matters. Spurred by hot-blooded lust and an insatiable desire to ravage his body, Eliza digs deeper and finally learns the truth about Gavin’s grizzly past. As calm and sedated as he seemed, who knew such fits of rage could devour him whole.

Caution: The following rant contains curse words and piercing ideas that will more than likely enter your subconscious and flip over table. Read at your own discretion.

ALSO, I’d like to point out that as I grow, I’m open to the fact that my opinions will probably change or extend themselves. But I still want to post them, kind of like marking my progress of thought.

More and more, I’m beginning to get the sense that my entire career as a story teller will be dedicated to tearing down the walls of hand-me-down statements you heard growing up. Those statements adults and older teens spit at you that sounded wise and mature. As if to contest them in any way would make you sound immature, childish and full of spite.

Aigoo…

What’s a hand-me-down statement? Here are some hand-me-down statements. When I read them, for some reason, I hear the voice of some stuck up self-righteous babysitter spitting them out to me…Everytime, it’s the darnest thing.

“Two wrongs don’t make it right!”

“Girls are more mature than boys!”

“You shouldn’t care about what others think!”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones…”

“Family will always be there!”

“You can’t pick and choose your family!”

“You’re not the only one in the world going through this!”

…I could go on for hours…

…Two wrongs don’t make it right…Yes it does.

If someone goes out and kills someone. They’ll be caught. Locked up. And either spend the rest of their life in prison or executed. But isn’t holding someone against their will…wrong? Isn’t execution, the act of killing someone, wrong? But the killer did something wrong. And we mask that second “wrong” as punishment. Making it…all right?

I digress…

In this world, there are these bastards…the assholes and bitches who need “problems” in their lives in order to feel like they’re living life. I’ve heard the idea before, but out of my love for the greater humanity, I refused to believe it. I thought to myself… “Who would actually want that kind of stress? Like, actually welcome it?”

The individuals I’m talking about are the ones who if they were tossed in a world where everyone treated them with respect, loved and cherished them, showed them nothing but kindness and generosity…THEIR MINDS WOULD EXPLODE! They need that conflict. And worst!!!! They don’t want to do anything about that conflict besides bitch about it!

And my dumbass actually listens to them. I actually take in what they’re saying, like a naïve little boyscout. I commiserate with them. And I don’t just say, “I’m sorry you’re going through that.” Instead, I actually put forth an effort to come up with a solution to their problems.

SOLUTIONS?

NO!!!!!

Solutions to these people are like the water to the Wicked Witch of the East…or West. Whichever one that melts.